


Birds of a Feather

by Veail



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Winged fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veail/pseuds/Veail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The purchase of Bruce Wayne's latest slave causes embarrassment for the young master of the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather

Damian started out at his father’s side, exactly where he should be. Walking one step behind was for daughters, wives, slaves and concubines. He was a teenager now, stepping into his father’s shoes and ready to take on his role in the family. 

And choosing a slave was his first task. 

There were many to choose from at Gotham’s central market. Once a month the drivers went out into the wilderness surrounding Gotham and flushed out what they could. Most of the people out there were poorly formed and couldn’t escape the nets, couldn’t run fast enough or fly high enough. Those they caught were sorted, placed in cages, and sold to the Gotham elite.

The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and Damian wrinkled his nose in disgust as he walked the line of cages packed tight with men and women. Most of them were sitting; the summer sun was unrelenting and humidity was high, it was sapping strength from even him and Damian hurried on past some of the more crowded cages. 

Further on into the market he viewed a young man with a critical eye, taking in the small, white wings on his back. Probably a gannet or some form of sea bird, he mused. The man’s musculature was sleek and spoke of time spent in the sea as well as the air. 

His father’s hand came down on his shoulder and Damian recognised it for the question it was. Is this the one you want? He shook his head, tearing his eyes away, and moved on. The wingspan was too small. What little time was spent in the air would be a battle and Damian had no desire for poor fliers. 

He continued on down the line of cages, alone now as his father was talking to one of the drivers. Damian was aware of the excited chatter that both preceded and followed him and stood a little straighter at the sound. It wasn’t every day that those of the bat were seen amongst the common folk. He knew he cut an imposing figure, even at the age of thirteen. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit despite the heat and dust of the day, with hair slicked out of his eyes and wings of jet black leather… not a single feather in sight. He was above the ranks of all those present – except for his father of course. 

Bruce Wayne was a son of the bat. The only living branch of his family tree left and descended from a long line of batmen. Theirs was a pure blood line, a perfect one, matching up only the best from both genetic strands. They grew up tall and handsome, with long, strong wings and no patches of unsightly fur, feathers or animalistic drives to mar their perfection. Looking at his father, Damian saw his own future and it made him proud. 

He side stepped another driver who was reaching out to touch his hand with undoubtedly sweaty palms and moved on to the next set of cages. The catch was poor this month and he was not going to come home with a substandard slave. This was his first task as a man and he would do it well and uphold the family name. Still, as he walked the lines of cages, eyeing the spindly limbs and mal-adjusted spines – results of poor genetic breeding from poor stock to begin with -- he began to despair just a little. 

It was then that a loud screech startled him. He turned, watching with intrigue a fight between two potentials inside the cage. Blood and feathers were scattered across the sandy floor and the other people inside had pressed themselves as far against the cage bars as they could while the two men attempted to kill each other. 

Crow, Damian’s mind supplied as he noted the black wings on one man; wings with a tell-tale upwards flick of the leading feathers. He couldn’t place the ancestry of the other but it was likely to be another carrion bird or predator of some kind judging from the ferocity with which he fought. He stepped forward, reaching out to touch the bars, fascinated. They were both young, both well-built and strong with adequate wing-spans and straight backs that looked far able to support them and any loads they may have to carry. He would take the winner, he decided, his father would approve of such a fire within a slave.

The driver seemed to realise he’d made a sale, and a rather important one at that, as he came forward. Damian nodded at him but did not take the outstretched hand on offer. “We will purchase the victor,” he said and said it loudly. “Please have him cleaned before delivery.” 

There was a second of quiet and Damian allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards slightly as the shouts and screams within the cage behind him started up anew with even greater fervour. Being a slave of the batman was a position few of these men could even dream to aspire to, his words were kindling to the flames of the battle like nothing else had been before.

The driver bowed and dipped his head. “Yes, Sir.” 

Damian straightened his back and turned. His eyes widened and for a second he fought the impulse to take a step backwards. Standing directly in front of him, just the bars of the cage between them, was a man. His blue eyes seemed almost lit from within they were so piercing and Damian’s breath caught in his throat as he held the gaze. He, as a member of the bat clan, would not look away first but it was a close call and when the other man’s gaze finally dropped it was only to his shoulders and the tips of the black leathery limbs rising above them.

“One of those men will kill the other, you know.” 

Damian blinked and stepped forward, “Excuse me?”

“One of those men will die,” the man repeated, “due to your words.” 

“If they die then so be it,” Damian said. “They will never attain higher than the position I am offering.” 

“So death is the second best option?”

“If it must be.” 

The man chuckled and leaned against the bars, half turning so that his back was visible to Damian’s eyes. Despite himself, Damian’s eyes widened and he stepped forward to get a closer look.

“You’re…ridiculous,” he said. 

Tiny little wings, no bigger than a regular pigeon and just as dully coloured, protruded from the man’s back. Strings of sequins and other small, sparkly tchotchkes were wrapped around the pathetic little limbs. 

The man’s easy smile faded a little and he leaned back. “You shouldn’t judge on appearance, Batman.” 

“Can you even fly?” Damian asked. 

“No one can fly like me.” The man’s words were boastful but his smile and the tone of his voice were fond not challenging. Damian snorted and turned back to the fight. But the man wasn’t finished yet. “You know, I think I pity you.” 

Damian focused on the fight still raging, ignoring the man in front of him who had turned and was moving, stretching backwards, walking his hands down the bars in front of him until his hands touched the floor. All Damian could see – if he had been watching that is – was an expanse of stomach, pulled taut, rising and falling with the man’s every breath. 

“Pity?” he didn’t even realise he was speaking until the man straightened up and looked at him again with those back-lit eyes. 

“Yep, definitely pity,” the man was nodding. “You’ll never know what it’s like.” And he turned away, pushing through the throng of people huddling at the edges of the cage. His ridiculous little wings were soon hidden from view. 

Damian turned back to the driver and paid for his slave, adding a little extra for the cost of any damage that might occur during the fight. It was only right, he supposed, seeing as the ferocity of the battle was down to him. The driver seemed pleased, his eyes fixed on the small bag of coins that Damian had produced. 

He’d just finished handing over the price when the noise from the cage seemed to change. There was a roar from the crowd, the driver's eyes widened in horror and his hand closed over the money in his palm. Damian turned, already half suspecting what he saw. 

There was another man in the fight now – the man with pigeon wings – and he was winning. 

The unknown carrion bird was already down, out for the count, and blue eyes was circling the other combatant, the crow, waiting. Damian sized up the fight quickly; it would be a close thing. The crow had some inches and pounds on pigeon but he was also tired. It was most likely that crow would win though, he thought. 

Then pigeon moved, and Damian’s stomach turned to ice. The man didn’t charge his opponent, nothing so crass. He flowed, flipping hands over feet until he was close enough to jump up and land, hands on shoulders, forcing crow to the ground. He caught crow in a sleeper hold and a few tense seconds later it was over. 

Damian’s father walked over just in time to see the victor of the fight – the slave he’d said in front of witnesses he’d buy and had indeed already handed over the price for – give him a cheeky wave and a grin.


End file.
